


Helena

by icouldnotsee (herprettysleeper)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Funerals, Suicide, This is really sad guys, all my friends are dead, snobby ass bitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:45:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herprettysleeper/pseuds/icouldnotsee
Summary: In which there was a car crash, and there are two sides to every story.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been completed for literally months, but I’ve been forced to put it up my sis, so. Here’s the first one-shot of my Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge collection (they’re all going to be unrelated, so you can read them in any order as they come out or skip the ones you’d rather not). Here’s the music video for Helena (by My Chemical Romance), which I highly recommend watching.

**_Long ago,_ **

**_Just like a hearse you’d die to get in again,_ **

**_The lives of everyone you know._ **

**_Burning on,_ **

**_Just like a match you strike to incinerate;_ **

**_We are so far from you._ **

~*~

Dean picks up the phone with a smile on his face. Sam is having a mini-tantrum because Dean keeps ironing his shirts with beer, and it’s somewhat amusing to hear his little brother storm downstairs.

He’s holding back a laugh as he says, “Hello?”

“Is this Tom Smith?”

Oh. Great. “Yes, how may I help you?”

“You’re listed as Y/N Y/L/N’s emergency contact–we couldn’t reach her parents. We need you to report to the hospital as soon as possible.”

Dean swallows. “Yes, of course.”

~*~

_Falling in love with Dean Winchester was easy._

_You knew it was an awful idea to hunt with Winchesters; they were God’s chosen ones. They were warriors._

_They were also like poison, seeping through the world around them and killing everything they came in contact with._

_But hunting with them was fun. You smiled, you laughed, you teased each other. You watched movies with Sam and you both drew on Dean’s face, laughed as you hid from him in the morning. You and Dean sang classic rock loudly in the car, much to Sam’s dismay, until you got to a song that even the younger Winchester couldn’t deny his love for. They were brothers, though, and you were careful not to step over that line, and not to intrude. You didn’t take sides, and you loved them both._

_But the way you loved Sam was not the way you loved Dean._

_You wouldn’t say one was more profound. Sam was giggling and pranking people and doing idiotic things. He was your best friend, and you were each other’s support. But Dean…was different. Dean made your pulse elevate, and your cheeks flush. Dean made your stomach turn._

_There came a point in time in which the flirting, which was once playful, wasn’t anymore._

_The first kiss was accidental–too many emotions after a hard day, a fight, affection. You hadn’t spoken for weeks. Sam had forced you into a room together–you became somewhat amiable._

_The second kiss was intentional._

_Falling for Dean was painful. You scraped your knees and bruised your bones when you hit the bottom, but it was all okay, because he greeted you there. It hurt like hell, but it was so, so_ easy.

~*~

“No.”

“Dean, you have to–”

“No. I’m not meeting them.”

Sam sighed. “You need to meet her family. The funeral is next–”

“I know exactly when the damn funeral is,” Dean growls.

Sam sets his jaw. “We’re meeting them. I don’t care what you have to say about it. She’s one of us. We’re meeting her family.”

“She was a kid when they left her,” Dean argues. “Because she wasn’t _like_ them. Because she didn’t want to follow in their footsteps.”

Sam chuckles–Dean looks up, angered. “What?”

“That’s exactly what Dad did to me,” Sam says.

Dean stills. “Sammy—”

“I get that you’re hurt. I get that you’re in pain. I get that you hate them–I hate them too. But you have to meet them.”

Dean doesn’t say anything.

“Dean,” Sam says softly. “She was my friend too.”

Dean remembers seeing her body for the first time, the impartial tone in which he was told the events of the crash– _she was on the highway, and she ran into the rail and tumbled over. She was killed almost instantly._ He thinks about the fact that instants are never immediate. He wonders how much pain she felt in those seconds, when everything stopped.

Dean swallows. “Okay. Okay.”

~*~

_“Dean, what the hell?” You’re laughing as he tickles you, and you thrash, but end up buckling under laughter. “This–is not–okay!”_

_“This is payback,” he says, grinning as he continues, and if you could stop laughing you’d have a smug expression on your face, because he has no idea what is about to happen._

_Sam attacks his brother with a fury, and Dean lets go of high yelp as he tumbles over. You catch your breath, then laugh again as Dean tries his best not to giggle, but when he does you can’t help but grin._

_“Dean, you’re_ adorable, _” you mock._

_He glares at you, though the laughter quickly takes over again, though he manages to choke out, “Fuck. You. Y/L/N.”_

_“You wish.“_

_You escape the room quickly before your phone pings. Your stomach drops._

**Unknown: Having fun?**

_You text back quickly._

I have months left. Leave me alone.

**But I don’t want to. Besides, I need to make sure you’re not wasting your time. It’d be a pity if you spent your last few months away from the boys you traded your life for.**

What I do with the time I have left is none of your business.

**Now, you know that’s a lie.**

_You delete the conversation, block the number. He’ll text you back somehow else anyway. He’ll make sure you know he has all control._

~*~

Dean decides that he’d like to throw every member of Y/N’s family into a woodchipper.

They’ve decided to throw a “small get-together,” which to them apparently means renting out a fancy plaza in order to throw a family reunion.

They’re using her death as an opportunity to celebrate.

A woodchipper might be too good for them.

“Dude,” Sam says. “You’re vibrating.” His little brother is trying to lighten up the situation, but Dean can tell he’s equally pissed.

A woman in a frilly hat saunters to Dean, with what he supposes is meant to be a seductive smile spread all over her face. “Hello, sir. To what pleasure do we owe your visit? I haven’t seen you around before.”

It occurs to Dean that this is family reunion, and for all this woman knows he could very well be a cousin. He shrugs off the thought and simpers.

“The love of my life died in a car crash,” he says instead. Sam’s head snaps towards him.

The woman should realize she is making a mistake by now. She should lose her smile, she should take a step back, she should give at _least_ half-hearted condolences. Not for him. For her.

“Well,” she runs a hand down his chest and against the fabric of his suit, “I’m sorry for your loss. If you need help—”

He yanks as way from her. “I think I’m fine, thank you.”

Sam trails him as Dean walks towards the Impala. Dean knows that he’s radiating anger, and that Sam is as well. Sam has the unique advantage of being able to control his temper.

Sam catches up to him easily, says, “You okay, dude?”

“When they all die, I’ll be a-okay.”

Sam acknowledges Dean’s wish with a small expression flitting across his features, and the brothers get into the car.

~*~

_“You know what I want.” The phone connection is wobbly, but the voice isn’t._

_“I know,” you say back._

_“You know what you owe me.”_

_“I…”_

_“You_ owe _me.”_

_“I know.”_

_“I want a show. Make it theatrical, love.”_

_You can almost see his eyes through the phone, pale violet irises and dilated pupils hungrily searching your frame._

_“I will.”_

~*~

Dean is staring at the steps.

His eyes trail up them and rest on the front of the church, the large, heavy wooden doors. He’s never been religious, but he’ll admit that there’s a feeling that comes with churches, a sort of solemnity, as if the world ceases to exist. It’s calming.

He can’t step inside.

He can’t be calm right now.

Someone watching him wouldn’t see the panic, but he can feel it, in the way his breaths quicken, are harder to take in, in the way his hands microscopically shake by his side.

He’s going to throw up.

“Hey, man, are you alright?”

Dean jerks his head to the side, realizing it’s Sam. He gets his hands out of the fisted form they’re in, laying them flat at his side. He’s fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine.

“No,” Dean replies and takes a step onto the steps. There are families entering, men and women and children and old people and he hates it. They didn’t know her. They think they did, but they didn’t know her. They knew the version of her that she herself stabbed to death years before he knew the person she’d become.

They’re here to pretend to mourn the death of someone they didn’t know a thing about, because they have to, to fit in with society’s expectations.

He should’ve had her burned, the hunter way. Even if it was beyond his control since he was already in the hospital, he should’ve made it happen.

“Dean.” Sam’s voice snaps Dean out of his thoughts again, and Dean realizes he’s frozen halfway up the steps.

He keeps moving, his brother easily keeping up with him, and Dean enters the church without a second thought. He can’t sit with her family–they didn’t know her. They left her to die in the middle of a city without a cent to her name or a place to call home, and she dug her way out of that hole. She did it by herself.

Sam directs him to seats they’re allowed to be in, and Dean sits and pretends he’s okay for the second, because this is fine.

It’s when he hears the pastor start talking that it hits him.

It’s all in past tense.

She _was._ She _did._ She _loved._

Y/N is in the past.

It hits him like a ton of bricks, aimed at the center of his head, and pain explodes through him, and Y/N _was._

She was a girl he loved.

She isn’t real anymore.

~*~

**_Can you hear me?_ **

**_Are you near me?_ **

**_Can we pretend to leave, and then,_ **

**_We’ll meet again_ **

**_When both our cars collide._ **

~*~

_“Hey, Dean, I’m gonna step out for a bit. I’m using Sam’s car.”_

_Dean’s head shoots up. “Yeah?”_

_You already understand his implicit question–_ where are you going, in case something comes up and I need to find you? _“I was gonna pick up something to eat. Some burgers, maybe some pie…” You look up at him, smile slightly. There are bags under his eyes from reading lore, and he needs some sleep. You feel a bit of worry, but that’s quickly vanished. What you’re going to do is going to hurt him a whole lot more than lack of sleep will, and crashing isn’t going to solve your problem._

_You cringe slightly as you realize the irony of your thought–he sees it, and his brow furrows. “Hey. You okay?”_

_You almost say it._ There was someone before you, and he’s in love with me. My family wanted me to marry him, but I wouldn’t–he was crazy. He thinks I’m his soulmate. He wants me to die so that I’ll “prepare a place for him in heaven.” And today is my due date, Dean. Today is my last day. He thinks I ran away for you, and that we had a secret romance or something before I left. You know it’s not true, but it doesn’t matter. If I’m not gone tonight, three children will be tomorrow, and every other day after. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You’ll think you can save me, but you can’t run around the planet to save people he randomly chooses. I’m not worth that. I will never be.

_Instead, you walk over to him and kiss him as hard as you can, your fingers knotted in his hair, pulling him closer to you. He’s surprised at first, then melts into it. When you pull away, he’s searching your face._

_“I’m fine, you say, “just a little stressed. I love you,” you say softly._

_“I love you too.”_

_As you’re about to leave, he says, “If you want to take Baby, you can.”_

_You smile faintly–you won’t take one of the few things he finds comfort in. “I’m good.”_

_You pick up Sam’s keys, ignoring your fear._

_The door closes softly behind you._

~*~

Dean walks out of the church, stumbling on the steps, and fuck the world, fuck her family, fuck him for throwing her into their goddamned mess of a life, fuck her for leaving them alone.

He tries to calm his breathing, steady it, but it doesn’t work–he punches the wall. He can hear his fingers crack and feel the ringing pain, but it’s good, it’s amazing. He loves it. He can handle it.

He knows this.

He looks up, and there she is, running up the steps with a first-aid kit, with the customary _What the hell happened to you?,_ with her eyes flitting over his face and checking for things that he isn’t saying.

He blinks, and there’s nothing there.

The next time the door opens, it’s the entire attendance exiting, and he realizes that he’s been outside far too long. They barely notice him though, though he hears their conversation, about stocks and mansions and vacations. Then he hears,

“Glad that bitch is dead.”

Dean calms.

“I mean,” the man continues, “she thinks that she could just _leave_ and there not be consequences? And her parents kept saying that they’d give her back her trust fund if she came back, like she had enough sense to. Glad we can put things to better use.”

Dean stands and locates the man who is speaking. He stares, the man stares back with pale violet eyes before snarling, “The hell are you looking at?”

Dean doesn’t really register when it happens, but next thing he knows he’s standing over the man, who is curled up on the ground, clutching his nose as blood slips between his fingers, and Dean’s fist hurts but he’s leaning forward to hit him again when someone holds him back. Sam. Of course.

Dean doesn’t even realize his tears until they fall off his face.

The man screams something about suing them both so hard their heads will spin, but Dean couldn’t care less as the wall he’s erected starts to crumble.

He shakes his head as Sam gets him down the second set of steps. “I killed her,” he starts.

Sam’s voice is soft. “You didn’t.”

“She’s gone.”

“She is.”

Dean is next to the Impala when he buckles.

“It hurts,” he croaks out.

His brother rubs his back and says gently, “I know. I know.”

~*~

**_What’s the worst thing I could say?_ **

**_Things are better if I stay._ **

**_So long and goodnight,_ **

**_So long, not goodnight._ **

**_But if you carry on this way,_ **

**_Things are better if I stay._ **

**_So long and goodnight,_ **

**_So long, not goodnight._ **


End file.
